Love or Lust?
by Rosie eisoR
Summary: Sequel to Infidelity! (my DaineXJon fic) Was it just the palace, the sense of secrecy and the "forbidden" element that made them want each other, or does it go deeper? On hold until the revisions of 'Infidelity' are complete
1. away

"Where shall we sleep tonight?"  
  
The question was directed at a tall man, with hair as dark as the sky was at that moment. He paused, looked upwards, as if the stars might lend him the answer, and smiled. "I think you can do this far better than me, sweet."  
  
A grin curved her own mouth. "How right you are. This will do." She indicated an area masked by trees.  
  
"You knew all along," he accused, dismounting his horse.  
  
He half-expected her to deny it, half-expected an Alanna-style retort, as cutting as her weapons. But no. That was not her way. "Of course," she replied easily. "I just thought you might like to feel as though you had some say in where we stayed." She jumped off Cloud and then held her hand out for the reins of the black stallion.  
  
"Tomorrow night, we're sleeping indoors," he promised, shivering as he cautiously examined their surroundings for signs of life. He didn't think anybody would have followed them, but you never could tell.  
  
"What's the matter, can't his Majesty handle the cold?" she mocked, turning her attention to him now that she was satisfied that the horses were settled.  
  
"No, his Majesty can't handle the noise at night." She shot him a disbelieving look. He spread his hands out, in a kind of apology, or an explanation. "Last night, you picked a place just below a colony of mating bats."  
  
"I thought they were sweet," she said, eyes wide with innocence.  
  
"Oh, they were," he assured her with a grin. "They were perfectly lovely. That is, until I wanted to sleep."  
  
A smile tugged at her mouth as she laid out their blankets. "Well, you'll be relieved to find out there are no bats around tonight."  
  
"Good."  
  
"You don't mind frisky frogs, though? Only joking," she added quickly, seeing the look on his face. "It's rabbits tonight." She watched silently as he spelled the area around them. Onua had done this, and Numair too. She was used to it. "Spell it against sound," she murmured, also tired from the previous night.  
  
"Believe me, I did." He sighed, before climbing into his own blanket. He reached across, pulling her into an embrace. Dimly, Daine noticed she'd stopped shivering, and realised that he'd also spelled the circle against the cold. It reminded her so much of Numair, it hurt. Sometimes, she wondered if she loved Jon more than she loved the mage. But it was impossible to compare; the two were completely different. Would she have left Corus, the only place which had accepted her, for Numair? She supposed she would have. The topic had never come up; he had needed the place as much as her. Eventually her eyes drifted shut, pulling her into sleep.  
  
*  
  
Jon suppressed a yawn, not wanting to wake the sleeping Daine. 'God's, she's beautiful.' He traced her jaw line cautiously, not wanting to wake her up. When dawn broke, she would awaken naturally, ready to face the day with a smile. She was always the same. He was sleepless, plagued by worries - was Thayet coping? Was Alanna still furious? Would anyone attack a King- less, Dominion Jewel-less country? What were his children doing?  
  
At some point during the night, during every night, he would wonder what might have happened, had he not been caught up in - what? Infatuation? Love?  
  
He knew, of course he knew. He would have gone back to Thayet, possibly told her everything, possibly told her nothing at all. She would have left Corus, gone to live somewhere else. They'd have met on occasion, surrounded by crowds of people, never alone. It would have been stilted, awkward, and polite. And then he would have wondered what might have been, had it continued.  
  
He smiled slightly as an inquisitive squirrel scrambled through Daine's blankets to catch a glimpse of the infamous WildMage. He closed his eyes, hoping for sleep.  
  
*  
  
Daine pushed Cloud forwards. "I can see a cottage," she called over her shoulder, not realising Jon was right behind her.  
  
"Shall we knock?" he suggested with a grin. "It seems the right thing to do."  
  
Daine dismounted as they grew closer, Cloud following obediently. Jon's stallion trotted neatly beside him. "Let's hope they're sane, and they like visitors," she whispered, before taking a deep breath and knocking on the door.  
  
It opened a crack. Barely visible were the features of a woman.  
  
"Would you have room for..." The WildMage's voice trailed off as the door was pulled fully open, exposing the cottage's owner. 


	2. small world

Daine stumbled away from the door once she had seen who was inside. Jon placed his hands on her to steady her. The blonde woman fixed the pair with a glare. "Is there something I could do for you?" she asked frostily.  
  
"Lady Varice Kingsford?" Jon tried, glancing at Daine to see her reaction. Daine appeared to have frozen, however. His answer was a mere nod. "Would it be possible for us to have a bed for the night? Only, we've been on the road for a month or two now."  
  
Varice's eyes lingered over Daine. Then, she curtsied, acknowledging that she knew them at last. "Your Majesty. Of course we will always have room for you." It was clear from her tone that the 'you' only referred to Jonathon, not Daine.  
  
Jon shook his head, indicating for the woman to rise. "I am royalty no longer, but I thank you for your invitation. May we come in?"  
  
Daine smiled stiffly at Varice as the woman stepped back to allow room for them to come in. It was not returned however, but it wasn't every day that you were told the King was no longer a king, and had him turn up on your doorstep.  
  
"Sorry about the mess," Varice apologised. Daine struggled not to roll her eyes - the room was, of course, as immaculate as they come.  
  
"I'm sure we can put up with it," she said lightly.  
  
Jon grinned at her, before taking Varice's hand and kissing it. He noticed a narrow gold band round one slim finger.  
  
"We appreciate your hospitality, Lady Varice."  
  
The blonde smiled in a tight, false way. "I hope you enjoy your stay. Please, feel free to stay as long as you want."  
  
This was code for 'I want you to leave, but I'll be polite about it.' Relaxing, (Jon could take care of this brand of court intrigue nicely) Daine called a mouse into the house, remembering how Varice hated rodents. Blue eyes flashed. They flickered onto Jon for a moment. Jon took the hint and excused himself, saying he needed to tend to the horses. Varice immediately rounded on Daine, the image of the perfect hostess evaporated.  
  
"Don't think I don't know why you're here," Varice hissed. "I know what you've come for. Don't even think of it! And to think, you have the very King himself wrapped up in your affairs. Mithros knows why he's pretending to be a commoner, like yourself. If you so much as look at my husband-"  
  
"Are you quite finished?" Daine interrupted coolly, although it was quite evident that she wasn't. "I have no interest in your petty affairs. Further, I have no interest in your husband. Any man stupid enough to marry you is beyond rational conversation anyway."  
  
Varice's lips curled in distaste. "That's exactly what your lovely Queen said when she found us."  
  
"Thayet?" Jon croaked, having returned to see how Daine was. "Why was she –" He broke off with a wince. "Oh, Mithros damn it. Daine, I need to tell you something. Now."  
  
Daine's brow crinkled. "What is it? And why did Thayet come here?"  
  
"Daine, it's – that is, Varice is married to-"  
  
"Hello, sweet."  
  
Daine whipped around at the new voice. Her face slipped into confusion and wonder. "Numair? But... I thought..." Tears caught in her throat and eyes and made her stop, as Numair pushed past her and stood next to Varice. "What...?"  
  
"Who are these people?" Numair asked, sliding an arm around Varice's shoulders. Daine choked out a sob.  
  
A triumphant look spread across Varice's face. "These are Sir Jonathon of Conté and Veralidaine Sarrasri, the WildMage. This is my husband, Arram Draper." 


	3. a meeting of minds

"Hus - Husband?" Daine croaked, desperation flooding her features.  
  
Numair bowed politely. "I had heard that the WildMage had extraordinary talents. I had not heard that her beauty was also extraordinary," he said, gallantly, causing his wife's expression to sour as though she had just tasted lemon. "Jonathon of Conté, you say? Perchance a relation of the present King of Tortall by the same name?" he asked, turning to Jon.  
  
Jon was scowling at Numair for his flirtatious manner. "Yes, I was." He left it at that, daring Numair to continue the conversation. Eyebrows soared, but the mage didn't take the challenge. Instead, his attention flew back to Daine. His eyes crinkled, as if he was reaching for knowledge but didn't know how to obtain it.  
  
Daine threw her hair defiantly out of her face and back over her shoulders, fixing Numair with an intent, penetrating look. "You didn't merely hear that I had extraordinary powers, Numair. You sought them yourself."  
  
Numair's eyes questioned hers, puzzled and not understanding. Jon gripped Daine's hand; she nearly fell into his embrace. She looked as if all her hopes were drowning slowly.  
  
Varice's face sparked with anger. "Arram," she commanded, shattering his almost entranced state. "Supper's nearly ready. Get our guests something to drink."  
  
Numair tore his gaze away from Daine's and obeyed. "Yes. Yes, quite right, dear. Quite right. Drink."  
  
Jon pulled Daine closer to him, not possessively, just urgently. "Follow him," he whispered into her ear. Even though he had given her the idea, the grateful look she gave him as she left to follow her old lover tore at the former King's heart. He knew that Numair would always be a part of Daine, no matter how much anyone else loved her. It was just hard to take.  
  
*  
  
Arram pulled the wine out of the cupboard and closed the door to it. When he stood, Veralidaine Sarrasri's beautiful, accusing face met his.  
  
"You remember me," she said softly.  
  
It was such a curious thing to say, such an out of the blue comment. But it was true. He felt like every fibre of his body knew every inch of hers, that some, if not most of, his thirty-one years had been spent with her. He knew this, but couldn't explain why. He couldn't remember a single one of their meetings. So, naturally, he replied, "No, I don't."  
  
Immediately, he wished that he had replied differently, found words to express the twist of emotions with in him. But it was done. Her face creased up, in confusion, or concentration. "I couldn't believe he'd left. I told him not to go. It felt wrong. Them Stormwings could of waited until Alanna returned, at least. Course, they were killin' people. But he didn't have to go by himself. Too soft for his own good, Numair was. See, he wouldn't let me come with him. 'Look after Kit,' he said. 'She needs you more than I do.' Only, she doesn't. Lindhall looks after her just fine. And, besides, he needed me. He did. He just wouldn't admit it. And then he vanished."  
  
He placed the bottle on the floor and an arm around the sobbing woman. Her speech was lightly tainted with a Gallan accent, more obvious now she was upset than it had been upstairs. She was obviously a commoner, apart from her grammar, her name told him so. She pushed her hair behind her ears and looked up to him. "You miss him," he said, congratulating himself for stating the downright obvious.  
  
"No," she said desperately, "not him, you! I miss you! Why did you go?"  
  
She was obviously extremely mixed-up. Arram eased his arm from around her shoulders, ignoring the rush his stomach had taken when their skin had brushed, and collected his bottle. "We should get back to them," he decided, reasoning that her companion would know how to deal with her better than he did.  
  
Her face worked a bit, as if she was wrestling with herself. Too suddenly to predict, her eyes flew up and caught his. Her gaze smouldered with fire. "Onua Chamtong? Thayet of Conté, George of Pirate's Swoop?" She carried on, shooting names at him. "Lindhall Reed? Buriam Tomahauk?" He stood there helplessly, unaware of her purpose.  
  
"Fine names, m'lady."  
  
She scowled, frustration clear on her face. "Raoul of Goldenlake. Knight Commander of the King's Own. Alanna of Olau. Lioness, King's Champion. Ozorne Muhassin Tasikhe, Emperor Mage. Arram Draper. Street performer." She stamped on the floor, in a petulant outburst, defeat getting the better of her. "I give UP!"  
  
Arram didn't hear her. He was focusing on the picture in his mind. 


	4. forsaken like a memory lost

A man sat, crosslegged on the ground, his back against the wall of the town's tavern. Ribbons were scattered around him. Nobody spared him a glance as they passed. Nobody guessed that here sat a man who had been the Emperor of Carthak's closest friend. A shadow of a smile flickered over his face. That was how he wanted it, after all. He wanted to find peace, solace at last, and he found it in anonymity. He found it in the country that his former friend had nothing but disdain for.  
  
"You going t'do anythin'?"  
  
He didn't reply to the young boy, who spat on the ground next to him and wandered off. But slowly, as if they had gained life themselves, the ribbons began to drift up, caught on an invisible breeze. The bright colours drew the eyes of onlookers. He flinched momentarily, but reminded himself that it was necessary, he needed their money to survive. Nobody would guess his identity. How could they?  
  
His brow furrowed in concentration, and the ribbons whipped together, forming a tight knot. Slowly, they began to unwind, spinning all the while. As the tie loosened, flashes of light were emitted from the centre of the knot.  
  
Coins were tossed his way by sympathetic passers-by, none particularly interested in what he did. Ribbons worked their way free and floated to the ground. Eventually, only three ribbons remained tied together.  
  
He bit his lip, gesturing at them to work themselves free. In a manner of speaking, they did. But they also exploded.  
  
Charred tatters of ribbons scattered the ground. The swarthy man sighed and closed his eyes. Wonderful.  
  
*  
  
Veralidaine Sarrasri was sitting quietly now, blue-grey eyes fixed intently on his face, awaiting his explanation. He looked away, wishing that she had had the sense to leave. He wanted to be alone, so he could decipher the meaning of the vision. Was it from the gods? Were they telling him he was this Num... whoever she said? Or was it his own imagination, conjuring up images so he could satisfy the longing in this woman's face, and in his own heart?  
  
"What was it?" she asked softly. "Even if – maybe I can help?"  
  
He shook his head, swallowing tightly. He would ignore it. "It was nothing," Arram lied, not able to meet her eyes. He sensed she would be able to tell he wasn't telling the truth, and he also sensed she would hate it. "A dizzy spell, that's all. Just a dizzy spell."  
  
He got to his feet, clutching the wine desperately. Now he needed a drink. "Let's go back up. Varice – my wife – and your delightful companion will be waiting for us." His tone left no room for arguments, but she didn't offer any. She just stood, eyeing him silently.  
  
As he led them out, he could have sworn he heard her mutter, "If that was a dizzy spell, I'm a Stormwing." She'd be right. She wasn't a Stormwing, and that hadn't been a dizzy spell.  
  
But what had it been?  
  
*  
  
She didn't want to have to face Jon alone. But Varice – oh, how she hated that woman – had explained how they only had one spare room, and would they be all right sharing? Of course, the answer had to be yes, muttered whilst carefully avoiding Numair's eyes.  
  
Because he was Numair. She knew that, as surely as she knew her own name.  
  
"Well?" Jon asked expectantly.  
  
She rubbed her eyes tiredly, sinking down onto the bed. "Well what?"  
  
He sat next to her, slipping an arm around her shoulder. "Well, what do you want to do?" he murmured. "We could leave now. We could stick it out, see if he remembers anything. We could magic Varice to her bed." She smiled at that. He hesitated slightly before offering his last suggestion. "I could leave you here."  
  
She thought carefully before replying. "No. I – I want us to stay. He-" She glanced down at her hands, which were trembling slightly. He took them in his. "He remembered something today, I'm sure of it! He just... wouldn't tell me what." She closed her eyes tightly. "I just – I just... wish he trusted me," she finished finally.  
  
Knowing that hadn't been what she was going to say, Jonathon brushed his lips against her forehead. "I know," he said. "I know." 


	5. by any other name

Firstly, profuse apologies. I have major exams coming up, and revising to do, but now I have finally finished 'Yours', so I have time to devote to this. Secondly, it has a juvenile/soap-opera feel that I don't like, but can't seem to get rid of :P I have the end in mind, which is such a plus point.  
  
*  
  
Daine stepped warily into the kitchen. She breathed a sigh of relief as she found no sign of Varice and ventured further into the room. Which was a mistake.  
  
For a moment, the blonde simply glared. If looks could kill, Daine had a feeling she'd definitely be six-feet-under by now. Then Varice shook herself slightly, becoming the gracious hostess who had once adorned Emperor Ozorne Tasikhe's Carthaki court. "Is there anything I can get you – Miss Sarrasri? Would you like a drink? Or a light snack, perhaps?" She hesitated, and her lip curled. Daine had a feeling that any food she took from Varice would be heavily poisoned. Varice continued in the same silky tones. "Or I could get the door for you?"  
  
Daine pursed her lips, taking a step back purely for comfort's sake. "Ah, Sir Jonathan and I would like to trespass on your hospitality for a little longer. I trust you don't mind?"  
  
Her move backwards had not come a moment too soon. Varice crossed the distance between them quickly enough as it was. "Listen, you little marriage wreaker," she snapped, her beautiful features contorting into a mask of rage. "I know what your game is. You stay here for a week – one week. And then, I want you out. Both of you. I don't care where you go, so long as I never have to see you again. Do I make myself clear?"  
  
"Perfectly," Daine managed, pressing herself back against the wall. "Very, very clear."  
  
Varice's expression cleared and she moved away again, picking up a cloth. "Good. Now, if you wouldn't mind, out of my way."  
  
"Not a problem," Daine muttered as she escaped out of the door. "Sweet Mithros, somebody woke up on the wrong side of the hay barn." She shuddered slightly, making for the forest, tempted to just keep walking until she was sure she'd never have to see anybody she knew ever again. She wrapped her arms around her middle. Varice hadn't been like this back in Carthak. Daine hadn't liked Varice – she suspected this had something to do with the fact that Varice was one of Numair's old flames – but they had never been open about their evidently common dislike.  
  
She hadn't taken any notice of where she was going. Until, that is, she walked into a tree. Or what seemed to be a tree, until she looked up and discovered that what she had mistaken for a plant was in fact-  
  
Her mouth had suddenly gone dry. She locked her arms behind her back, struggling not to reach out and touch him. "Good day, Mister Draper," she said politely, hoping he wouldn't notice the crack in her voice. It was just hard – so hard – to see him, and not be able to hug him, to have to act as though they were mere acquaintances when...  
  
He stiffened slightly. "Good day, Miss...?"  
  
Tears jumped to her eyes; her fingers pinched her wrist tightly behind her back. "Sarrasri. Veralidaine Sarrasri." He knew that, he did! He was just trying to distance himself from her. Well, it wouldn't work.  
  
"Miss Sarrasri," he finished, bowing to her and walking past.  
  
"Though," she said thoughtfully, feeling almost certain he'd stopped in his tracks. "You never called me that. When it wasn't Daine, it was 'Magelet', then 'sweet'."  
  
He gripped her arms and swung her round to face him. Her breath caught in her throat – the names had done it, he was remembering! His dark eyes searched hers, confused and – and angry. She shivered at the power in his gaze.  
  
"I don't know what your purpose is, Miss Sarrasri, but I would thank you to not trouble yourself with either myself or my wife any longer," he said tightly.  
  
Their eyes were locked, although Daine struggled to look away. Fury rose, swelling within her. Even if he didn't believe her, there was no reason to treat her like this!  
  
"Fine," she snapped. "I just know that if I'd gone and done something daft like that with Stormwings that made me lose my memory, I'd want to know about it. I was trying to help."  
  
He shook her impatiently; she'd forgotten he still held her. In that instant, their gazes broke.  
  
"Let me go," Daine said tensely, determinedly not looking at him. Varice had changed her Numair, and she didn't like it. When he didn't, her face twisted up with pain, and she wrenched herself free.  
  
"We'll be gone by sunrise," she informed him, biting off every word. "Good day to you, Master Salmalín."  
  
He stared after her, rubbing his hands together slowly.  
  
"Funny girl, isn't she?" 


	6. a rememberance of this

Apologies. I've actually had this chapter to put up for ages :P I think I thought I'd already done it. Anyway. I suspect after this chapter, there are only two left.

*

Arram turned, facing Sir Jonathan. The knight smiled, although there was a certain chilliness to it, as though he wasn't entirely comfortable here, and definitely as though he couldn't stand Arram.

Despite this, the mage relaxed visibly, seeing the other man was apparently unarmed. Perhaps he had only come to talk. Perhaps he could explain his lover's bizarre behaviour. The tentative smile that had begun to creep over his lips froze in place as sapphire magic bloomed in the space between the two men.

"Calm yourself, Draper," Jonathan ordered, amusement plain in his eyes. The command came easily – Jonathan was long used to his role as a leader of men. In everything else, he seemed almost like a fish out of water, even – Arram couldn't help noticing – his attention to Veralidaine. "I only want to show you something."

Arram obeyed, unclenching his fists, but remaining tense, ready to blast the man anyway.

The blue magic pooled around their feet. Images swirled around in it, beckoning the mage. He emulated Jonathan's movement and knelt, staring into it, transfixed. All the magical knowledge he had forbade doing this, letting magic override him without thorough awareness of what it entailed, yet some part of him forbade him looking away. The same part of him that seemed to yearn for the brunette with the fierce blue-grey eyes, rather than his mild wife.

_"Your Majesty, the King's Champion demands an audience."_

_"She would," sighed the image of Jonathan – King Jonathan. _Arram tore his eyes away from the pool to glance up at his companion questioningly.

There was no response, no flickering change in expression.

Arram returned his attention to the puddle._ A fiery-haired man had entered it with_ – he peered closer – _his younger double in tow._

_"Sire, I would like to speak with you privately about – what was the name? Numeric Samonin?"_

_The Champion – _Alanna the Lioness, Arram remembered, from his various studies – _shared a private grin as the man looked down and mumbled his correct name._

_"Please accept my deepest apologies for my uncouth Champion." The King stood, startling the ragged man who glanced up, and was immediately captured by a pair of penetrating blue eyes. "Now, what is your purpose here?"_

Arram gulped slightly and shook his head, more to clear it than anything. Strangely – stranger than the resemblance between him and the man they called Numair – his memory was responding to this, and memories probed at him, only to vanish when he tried to grasp them.

Eyeing him, Jonathan waved his hands and the picture disappeared, replaced by presumably an older Numair – now, Arram could tell why Veralidaine had believed him to be her lost lover – in earnest conversation with the King.

_"She can help us, Jon, I know it."_

_The King drummed his fingers on the table. "How are you so sure we can trust her?" He leant forward. "I'm sorry to be callous, Numair, she seems like a wonderful assistant for Onua, but – I just need to be sure she won't wander off and serve somebody else once we've given her the foundations."_

_"She won't," Numair responded shortly, firmly._

_"Does she…?"_

_Although Arram had no idea what the King was referring to, Numair picked up the end of the sentence with ease. "Know? No." HeNumair stared off into space, his expression uncertain through the ripples in the image. "Let's trust her with your country's future first, then my past. Sire."_

_The King rose, clapping Numair on the shoulder. "Glad your priorities are sorted," he said dryly. "Teach Daine, then."_

The picture flickered, and cleared.

Suddenly images burst forward – _a Stormwing attack, two figures on horseback, a brunette dressed in purple curtsying and smiling shyly, a small dragon_ – 

Dragon?!

- _people__ laughing, hugging, kissing_ – 

They sharpened into focus, although they remained a fair distance away.

_"Spying, milord?"__ A teasingly musical voice, setting bells ringing in his head. _He was – he knew – No. The fleeting recognition vanished as quickly as it had come.

_"No. Just finding out what those two have been up to." _There were no images, it was almost as if the magic was paining Jonathan.__

_His companion laughed. "Honestly, darling, it's been obvious to anyone with eyes for months! You can worry about the affairs of your mages later, come and see Li-"_

The memory cut short. Arram noticed the real Jonathan was grey and swaying on his feet.

"Remember?"


End file.
